


The Furnace That Is You

by biswholocked



Series: JWP 2015 [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Fighting, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4285209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biswholocked/pseuds/biswholocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And what shoulder, & what art,<br/>Could twist the sinews of thy heart?<br/>In what furnace was thy brain?"<br/>-William Blake, "The Tyger"</p>
<p>A study on Sherlock's form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Furnace That Is You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day six of JWP. The prompt was: "Imitate the actions of a tiger." 
> 
> Could be read as either gen or pre-slash, though I was imagining it to be more pre-slash with an adoring!John.

They wait, with bated breath, ears straining to catch the conversation taking place on the other side of the closet.

“What have you done?”

“Be quiet, Delores.”

“The police came by. They said that you- you-”

“What? Killed him? Is that what they said?”

Silence, broken by muffled tears. John turns his head to meet Sherlock’s eyes and feels his heart speed up at the hunger found there. Every line of him vibrates with energy, ready to pounce; John can feel it spreading, catching on in his own veins like wildfire.

“On three,” he whispers, a ghost of sound.

“He deserved it. Always coming around, going after you. The others were just bodies, diversions, but _him_. He thought he could have you. He couldn’t.”

“One, three!” Sherlock says, and throws the closet door open. John follows close behind, arm automatically coming up to steady his gun. Sherlock is on fire, burning brilliantly as he dispatches the killer with an precise uppercut, shares his deductions with a resigned Lestrade; the pure strength and ferocity of his form leaves John awed.

“He’s like a tiger,” he writes in a blog post, days later. “Sharp clawed, always ready to fight.”

Sherlock peers over his shoulder and scoffs. “Pure romanticism, John. Complete drivel. I am nothing like a tiger.”

John smiles. He knows the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/ con crit always welcome!


End file.
